


chef's secret

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Cooking, Coping Mechanisms, Gen, Muffins, Post-Season/Series 03, Stress Baking, Supportive Joyce Byers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: “Are you baking?”There are apple cinnamon muffins in the oven. Billy has no idea how to get out of this one.or, billy bakes
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Billy Hargrove & Joyce Byers, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove & The Party, Pre Billy/Steve
Comments: 19
Kudos: 261
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms, harringrove for BLM





	chef's secret

**Author's Note:**

> **request: "something about billy secretly being able to do the BEST cupcakes/pie/..etc and max knows and tries convincing the party, but they don't believe her."**
> 
> thank you for your donation and i hope this is to your liking! <3 :D
> 
> ______

“It’s nothing much.”  
  
Billy’s eyes turn to Hopper. He shakes his head once, swallowing to salivate his throat before he says, “Better than nothing, chief.”  
  
Hopper nods once, fidgeting with his hat like he has no idea what to say next. Billy can’t exactly blame him, but a weight still settles in his chest at the pity he’s regarding him with. “Man, don’t you have a town to attend to?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, trying to put them both out of their misery. “I can take care of myself. I’m not some invalid.”  
  
A small smile tips the corner of Hopper’s lips up. He props his hat on his head and gives the interior of his old trailer a cursory look. “Need anything, just call me, kid,” he says it like it’s an order. Billy humors him, nodding. “Or call Joyce. She wants to meet you.”   
  
Billy opts for another nod. “Yeah, thanks.”  
  
“If you’re more comfortable with kids your age, you can call Jonathan. He’s a good one,” Hopper _really_ seems to be trying to delay his departure. Like Billy would take a knife to his throat the second he’s alone.   
  
It’s understandable. Because. Well. Billy remembers being in so much pain on that hospital bed all he could think about is how he wants it all to end. Voiced that thought so many times they kept him under surveillance lest he tried something _stupid_.   
  
“Or Steve. He was worried and I heard you two need to sort your shit out.”  
  
Billy huffs. “I’m kinda tired, Hop. Can the moral lesson wait?”  
  
Hopper doesn’t push. He pats Billy on the arm with a tight-lipped smile before leaving.

…

Joyce calls. Keeps calling, actually. Thrice a day. She asks Billy how he’s doing, if he needs anything, if he’s _eaten._ She tells him about Will and how he used drawing as a means of release. Billy’s always terse, replies with one-word answers and then begs off with lame excuses he’s sure she knows are lies. She doesn’t let up, keeps being sweet and gentle and he wants her to fuck off so bad. Doesn’t need a therapist in disguise right now.  
  
He’s sitting on the floor, looking through the boxes Max dropped off. There’s his boombox, along with a bunch of cassettes. Clothes. Ashtray. His band posters are neatly folded and wedged in there as well. Out of boredom, he looks through the books. Puts Tolkien’s ‘The Silmarillion’ aside because he hasn’t gotten around to reading it yet.  
  
He stops at a notebook; one he had buried so deep in his closet he forgot it existed altogether.  
  
It’s worn out by now. The corners are all crumpled, and the papers are yellowish from bad storage.   
  
He fights the itch to hug it to his chest. Instead, he runs a hand over its cover before opening it. It’s full of recipes, written in his mother’s cursive longhand. Billy’s fingers trace the handwriting, smile small on his lips.   
  
He remembers being only five. Doesn’t remember what had happened between his parents that day, only that it ended with Neil breaking his grandma’s urn out of spite before leaving with a slam of the door. Billy had stood next to his mom as she battered the cookie mix. He remembers laughing when she said, _“your father hates raisins,”_ while tipping a whole cup of raisins into the dough.   
  
She’d told him to get the notebook so they could write down the ingredients. Billy took his time, knew that she only said that to buy herself time to cry.   
  
Billy remembers Joyce. And Will. And art as an outlet.

…

He starts cooking. His chicken wings turn out too unseasoned. His soup’s too salty. Even his pasta turns out too sloppy. But it feels _good_ anyway. He cooks and cooks, eats it all up, pointedly ignoring the fading appearance of his abs.   
  
Things feel better. He starts asking Joyce questions of his own. _How are you? Is Chief Hopper bothering you? Why isn’t my cake rising? Will doin’ well at school?  
  
_He starts creating his own recipes. Fills out the rest of the notebook. Buys a new one. Fills that one as well. 

He’s idling away in front of the TV when someone starts banging on the door. He huffs a breath, tipping his head back with a groan.  
  
“Billy! I know you’re in there!” Max screams.  
  
Another groan forces its way out of his throat. “Door’s open!”  
  
Max’s storming in a second later, slamming the door shut behind her. “I can’t believe this!” she starts, stalking over to the couch and plopping down next to him.  
  
Billy hums. She’s like a loaded gun beside him, waiting for any cue to go off. “If you’re waiting for me to say, ‘ _can’t believe what?’_ and be a brother about it, _don’t_.”  
  
Max isn’t listening. She kicks a foot in the air dramatically and groans through clenched teeth. “El and I were spying on the guys because I _really_ wanted to know what they got me for my birthday tomorrow and guess what? They were _panicking_ because they _forgot,_ ” she keeps talking but Billy sort of tunes out. Kinda doesn’t like that he forgot all about her birthday as well. To be frank, he never bothered knowing _when_ her birthday was. Knew it was somewhere in autumn but that’s about it. “Are you _baking?”  
  
_There are apple cinnamon muffins in the oven. Billy has no idea how to get out of this one. Baking’s for _girls._ Billy isn’t– he’s de-masculinized himself _enough._ He’s not a fucking _housewife._ “Look…” he’s not sure what he’s going to say, thought maybe he’d think on his feet and his brain will come up with something to save face, but nope. Nothing.  
  
“Oh my god, even _you_ remembered my birthday!” Max throws her arms in the air. “And those _assholes!_ URGH.”  
  
Billy wants to snort, say _in your fuckin’ dreams._ But remembering her birthday will, for one, get him out of explaining himself, and two, make him seem like a good bro. Maybe even make her feel a little guilty about not visiting in the past two weeks or so. “Yeah. Fuckin’ assholes. See why I wanted to run them over?”  
  
“You _should’ve.”  
  
_Billy pushes down a laugh and turns the TV volume up. “Go check on your muffins. I’ve done enough for you.”  
  
Max doesn’t hide her excitement as she scurries into the kitchen. But she’s considerably less eager when she re-emerges with a muffin in her hand. She looks at him, mouth still full as she says, in a disbelieving monotone, “This is the best muffin I’ve ever tasted in my life.”  
  
Billy straightens his posture, smirking a little. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah! Oh my god,” she takes another bite and muffles out a, “I’m taking them home with me. What the shit,” as she turns around and disappears where she came from.   
  
Billy rolls his eyes and redirects his attention to the TV.

…

Joyce calls him the next day and invites him to Max’s birthday party. She says it’s a last-minute thing and the kids sort of forgot. ‘I’m sure she’d want you here. And I’d love to meet you.’  
  
Billy accepts. Despite having not been around people in over a month. He owes the little shit that much.  
  
He skulks outside the Byers’ door for a little while, isn’t sure how to say _hi_. Isn’t sure anyone besides Joyce _knows_ he’s coming. He spreads his fingers so hard they ache, then he takes a breath and knocks twice.  
  
The door opens almost instantly. Billy looks up _._  
  
And. It’s Harrington. Fucking _Steve._  
  
Steve crosses an arm on the doorjamb and leans his weight on it, smile easy. “Hey, you here to beat me up again?” he greets, all casual.  
  
“It’s been over a year, move on,” Billy snipes back. He’s surprised by his tone, hasn’t heard it in a while. “‘Sides, my knuckles are fucked.”  
  
Steve’s face breaks into a full-on grin. “How are you, man?”  
  
“Fine. And I’m here for my sister, not to have a heart-to-heart with you,” Billy replies, hoping to wipe the smile off Steve’s face.

Steve tuts his tongue and pushes himself off the doorjamb to open the door wider with an eye-roll, “Come in.”  
  
When he steps inside, he finds Dustin holding a half-eaten muffin. Beside him, Mike’s piecing a part of his off with delicate fingers. ”And you want me to believe _Billy,_ your macho asshole brother’s the one to make these?” he’s asking, inspecting the piece closely. Lucas has his at arm’s length, like maybe he suspects Billy really _is_ the one who made the muffins and he’s specifically poisoned his.  
  
Billy clears his throat and they all turn to him with matching curiosity. He’s getting ready to get defensive and snarl something vulgar at them, but they go back to their heated argument before he can come up with something. “Got you something,” he says instead, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out said _something_ and throws it at Max, who catches it on reflex and looks down at it.  
  
“Uh. This is mine,” she rolls the pocketknife between her fingers and looks up, frowning at him. “I literally carved my initials into it.”  
  
“Yeah, well I’m giving it _back,”_ Billy replies. “Be fuckin’ grateful.”  
  
Apparently, it makes the kids laugh, makes even Nancy cover her laugh with a cough.  
  
“Joyce’s in the kitchen,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around Billy’s neck and pulling him to his side. “I’ll take you to her. She _really_ wants to meet you.”  
  
“I’ve heard that sentence so many times I just know she’s gonna be disappointed,” Billy shoulders Steve’s hand off his shoulder and pushes him away, not too harsh, but enough to get his point across.  
  
“Disappointed?” Steve kind of leans into Billy’s ear, makes his breath stall. “Do you _know_ Jonathan? No bigger disappointment if you ask me.”  
  
Billy huffs a laugh. “Yet somehow, your girl chose him over you.”  
  
“ _Hey, hey,”_ Steve chastises, walking ahead. “Don’t get mean. She has low standards.”  
  
Billy follows after him, stopping only when Max calls his name.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Can you tell them you baked these? They don’t believe me.”  
  
“Baked _what_?” Billy furrows his brows, tilting his head a little. He doesn’t look at the muffin she’s holding, like it’ll disappear if he avoids it hard enough.  
  
“ _Billy,”_ Max hisses. “ _These_ muffins. The ones you made yesterday for my birthday? Your _only_ redeeming quality?”  
  
“He nearly _died_ saving El _,”_ Lucas says. “And _good muffins_ are his redeeming quality?”  
  
“They’re _really good,”_ Max explains, then looks back at Billy. “Come on, tell them.”  
  
Billy can feel the expectant eyes on him, waiting. Mike’s chewing enthusiastically, watchful. Billy shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. One of you shits check her temperature.” Will and El reach for her forehead at the same time, have her slapping their hands away with a huff.  
  
He doesn’t give her the chance to argue, turning tail to wander into the kitchen after Steve, who throws a glance over his shoulder. “You’re just messing with her, aren’t you?”  
  
“Nope. Never cooked a thing in my life.”  
  
“Maybe you should, y’know, as an apology for–”  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Billy mutters. “You _smashed_ my car.”  
  
“You smashed _my face.”  
  
_“Boys, boys, knock it off. I’m trying to concentrate.”  
  
Billy spares Joyce a smile that she returns enthusiastically before turning back to the cake she’s decorating. Billy looks at Steve, rolls his eyes when he finds him pushing his hair back to show off a tiny cut on his hairline.  
  
He fends off a smile.  
  
It’s only when they’re around the table and Billy’s throwing flattering remarks about Joyce’s cookery every other mouthful that Joyce says, “I could give you the recipe if you want. Oh, which reminds me, did the baking soda tip work?”  
  
“Yeah, _Billy,_ did the baking soda tip _work_?” Max asks right after giving her friends a look to rub it in that she was right, and it wasn’t all a _fever dream_. She sounds real fucking complacent about it.  
  
Billy curses under his breath, _found out._   
  
“Um,” he puts his spoon down and sits upright. “Yeah. Thanks, ma’am. Worked fine.”  
  
Joyce’s “I’m glad” doesn’t drown out the kids’ whispered astonishment. He should’ve run them the fuck over.  
  
“I like chocolate chip muffins,” Steve mutters from beside him a little while later.  
  
“My knuckles are fucked but that won’t stop me, Harrington,” Billy hisses, inaudible to anyone else. “Put a cork in it.”  
  
“Not a fan of choc–”  
  
Billy pinches his thigh, hard enough to bruise and doesn’t let go. Makes Steve grunt. “Sorry,” he says on a breath. Billy unhands him. Counts three seconds before Steve adds, “Chef.”


End file.
